It Takes Two
by Hina-chan-san
Summary: Upon accidental discovery of Antonio's true feelings towards him, Lovino decides once and for all that he's had enough of the lies and half-truths that mark their relationship. He, Lovino Romano Vargas, wants him, Antonio Férnandez Carriedo, to know two things: that he was an idiot for deciding not to say anything earlier, and that he feels the same way. Spamano, mostly shōnen-ai.
1. To Keep A Secret

**Title: **It Takes Two — To Keep A Secret (Chapter 1)

**Pairing:** Spamano, just shōnen-ai again.

**Summary:** By pure coincidence, Lovino finds a journal of Antonio's, detailing his —supposedly secret — love for him. Intrigued, Lovino, of course, chooses to read on. . .

**Warning:** Contains country personification implied boyxboy, a.k.a. B.L. or yaoi. Human names used.

**Rating:** T for Lovino's lovely lingual repertoire.

**Word Count:** 3,521

* * *

A/N: Words in italics are what Antonio originally wrote, words in regular text are revisions added later, and text in parentheses () are words he crossed out. On deviantART, it shows up better. ^^; I'm sorry... thanks to Skyebyrd for suggesting I relocate this clarification.

* * *

**limbo **_**[LIM boh]**_** —** (n.)

_1. a place or state of oblivion to which a person or thing is sent, esp. when forsaken or cast aside_

_2. a transitional or middle place or state of being_

_3. a place or state of imprisonment or confinement_

* * *

_(XX XX 15XX) — XX XX 2012_

"Antonio."

_Over the years, I have accumulated a rough handful of nicknames, all from one person._

"Lovino."

_Bastardo, tomato bastard, idiota, dumbass, asshole, _SOB,_ etc. . .sometimes it seems the list could go on and on. I guess it doesn't help that you can swear in (__two) _three_ different languages whenever you want._

_To tell the truth, Lovino, if someone asked me how many times you've leveled that dirty mouth of yours at me, I'd have to say that even if I had tried to, I would've lost count so many generations ago. But, mi querido Lovino, (__I don't think I ever cared much about that.)_ I still don't, actually. _Although foul language in a child may be considered unhealthy, even if my boss had ordered me to, I wouldn't have been able to wash your mouth out with soap. If I had, you probably would've choked, cried, and screamed until your voice was hoarse, and hated me even more._

_I wonder every now and then, mi tomate, what (__did)_ do _I look like to (__those young eyes)_ you_?_ _I would ask you today, but I know that at the last possible moment I will always falter, and never succeed; you might get suspicious and ask me_ (why _what the hell are you talking about?)__ what's up._ _I'll even tell you why:_

_It's because I'm (__in love with you) _a coward_._

Perhaps it's a good thing, that I can finally admit that after ages of trying to ignore(ing) it.

_In the eyes of regular people, this love I have for you would probably be labeled_ "incestic." (_They don't understand what it is to be one of us.) _In a way they're probably right. _How could I fall in love with someone that I helped to raise from childhood, who considers me a big brother (_or maybe just a convenient someone to insult)_?_ _Does that make me a pedophile? Does it, (__Lovino) _mi amor_?_ _Maybe it does, and maybe you'll think that there's something wrong with me if you (__found) _find_ out that I love you._

_But, Lovi, that part inside of me that screams_ "te amo" _every time I see you, it doesn't "give a (__crap) _shit_," as you would (__probably)__ put it, what those people think or say._ _Solo tu,_ _mi pequeño _Lovino_. (_Only you.) _The rest of me tells myself that I should hide this love away from everyone, especially you._

_I (__don't) _never _want to see the look on your face when you discover how (__twisted)__ I really am._

* * *

The Italian stared wide-eyed at the travel-worn book sitting in his hands. He was visibly shaking, the errant curl on top of his head bobbing up and down. He read it once, twice, three times, but every single time he was done reading that last line, he still found himself standing there, conflicted over what to do next. He wanted to cry, to scream, to curse at the bastard until he couldn't think of new ones, and he was of a mind to go and do that right now. But he didn't. Instead, he sat down on his — Antonio's — bed to muse over the chain of events leading to this startling revelation.

Today had begun innocuously enough. He'd come for a visit without calling first, like he usually did. No matter how many times he didn't give warning, though, the Spaniard never seemed to mind, always greeting the younger man with a smile on his face. Which was why, each time he came over unannounced, he made Antonio dinner. _This time's penne, and I finished that early, so. . .that's right, I came up here._ He was going to wake the _idiota_ up from his regular afternoon siesta, but Antonio had already woken up by himself and was taking a shower. Deprived of his chance to see a sleeping Spain for today, and with no other recourse, the auburn-haired man had flopped down on the bed, deciding to take a quick siesta of his own until Antonio was finished. _Yeah, that was when I almost hit that book._ Lovino had discovered an object lodged between the wall and the bed. Plucking it from its predicament, he'd almost dismissed it as insignificant and was about to put it aside, when he froze, eyes darting back to the faded gold letters on the front cover:

"_To Lovino Romano Vargas"_

Intrigued now — _what the hell is a book with my name doing here? _— Romano had cautiously cracked it open a tiny bit, as if waiting for some invisible trap to spring. There was none. Just the slightly musty scent of aged paper. And the words. _Dio, his words. . ._ Those achingly honest, simple, almost heartbreaking words. _I wanna _strangle_ the bastard. Dammit, Antonio. . ._

* * *

Lovino sat up. As far as he could figure it, he had three options:

1. Confront Spain and cuss his ass out for not telling him sooner. _He sure deserves it._

2. Say nothing, make like he didn't know anything was wrong, and keep reading what Antonio had written, a little at a time. _What the hell has he written in there, anyway?_

3. Ignore this and pretend it never happened. _My usual modus operandi._

_But. . ._ Lovino thought to himself as he carefully re-lodged the book as he'd found it. That accomplished, he rolled over to the other side of the bed and shut his eyes. _. . . .I'm tired of this. We're stuck, and there's no time for this shit already._ _Yeah,_ he decided, curling more securely into the pillow, _it's not time to talk to Antonio yet. I need to know more._

* * *

Antonio Férnandez Carriedo stood in the doorway of his bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, eyes feasting on an uncommon sight. _I thought I smelled Lovino's cooking, but it could've just as easily been the power of wishful thinking. . ._ Running a hand through still-damp curls, he smiled. He was happy that Romano still felt the urge to drop in every now and then. _After all, it's not like I can hang out with Gil and Francis all the time._ Recently, Gilbert had been restless, and Francis. . .well, France was busy just being himself.

Walking over to his bureau to take out a shirt, Spain kept stealing glances over his shoulder at the sleeping Italian. _What about him now makes it when he's sleeping makes it different than from when he was a baby still?_ the Spaniard mused as he pulled the shirt over his head. When Romano was younger, he used to sneak away to get out of doing chores, and hide. Inevitably, he'd fall asleep curled up somewhere, and Antonio would just about turn the house and its surroundings upside-down, frantically searching for his young charge.

Fully dressed now, Antonio stood over the bed, uncertainty clouding his face. He sat down softly next to Lovino, so the latter wouldn't wake up. _You're not my _niño_ anymore, Romano. You don't need Boss to come find you and put you in bed before you catch cold now._ Spain sighed. This reminiscing wasn't gonna get him anywhere, and he was hungry. _If I can't have Lovino, I'll have the food that he makes for me._ But of course he had to wake its creator up first, or the younger man would hit him for eating the food he made without him._ Besides, as cute as Lovi looks while sleeping in my bed, it's dinnertime._ And dinner was extremely uneventful without someone to share it with.

Antonio sighed again, and reluctantly nudged Romano in the ribs. The nudge was ignored, and the other man flipped over to face the opposite side. Antonio attempted to shake Lovino's shoulders, but the Italian only nestled _deeper_ into the pillows. Exasperated now, Antonio mentally flailed about for ideas. . .coming up with nothing, until he saw the curl.

_¿Qué?_ Spain stared at it for a second, looking away, then returning to where it was. _Madre de Dios, I can't actually be considering _THAT. It was tempting. It was _very_ tempting. But. . . _Ah, what the hell. Desperate times call for desperate measures, right?_ He reached over and took a hold of the object in question.

* * *

From a distance, Lovino had heard the bathroom door opening, and felt the steam dissipating. He imagined Antonio exiting the bath naked except for a towel, and his heart sped up. _Che palle. Damn fantasies._ That, however, was before he heard Spain rummaging through drawers. _Are you friggin' kidding me? He really _was_ naked?_ His inner pervert nagged and screamed at him to _take a peek and _LOOK,_ dammit!_ when a weight settled on the edge of the bed, clamping all of Romano's pervy thoughts down with it.

The Spanish man sighed ruefully, and Romano felt a poke on his ribcage. The smaller man let out a mental snort of disgust. _You'll have to try better than that for making me wait, dumbass. And for making me miss the opportunity to see you na— _NO! He shook off the thought, and then rolled over unto the other side of Antonio's bed. _The pillow smells like him. . ._ In response to Spain's shaking, Lovino simply gripped said pillow tighter, and smirked to himself. He could just imagine Antonio throwing his hands up in frustration. _What now, pomodoro bastardo?_ Spain would have to come up with something more creative.

Creativity was exactly what he got. The first pull on his curl was like getting the wind knocked totally out of him. The second tug had him taking a deep breath before he forgot to breathe. The third deft stroke forced the Italian man's eyes open and with it, the oxygen that he'd just breathed in out into an involuntary low moan — "Chigi. . .—" Upon seeing the administrator of these attentions, Lovino immediately snapped his mouth shut in horror.

The bastard was _smirking._ Romano could feel heat flowing up his neck, into his cheeks, not stopping until it reached his ears. Still holding the pillow, his hands curled into fists, creating angry furrows in the pillowcase.

Despite what people may have thought, Antonio Férnandez Carriedo was no fool. After all, he hadn't known South Italy for this long for nothing, thank you very much. Hastily, the Spaniard backed away from the bed, hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Lovi, before you say anything, I—"

Romano snapped. "_What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing, you _pedophile_?_ Last time I _checked,_ you weren't France!"

"But Lovi—"

"_Don't_ you 'but, Lovi—' me_, asino_! It's _bad enough_ that he's your freakin' _neighbor_, but that _doesn't_ mean you have to _absorb_ his sick habits! How could you stoop to his level?" He paused, sides noticeably heaving as his lungs seized the chance to intake more air. Pale green eyes narrowed, focusing their rage on the still-standing Antonio. But Lovino wasn't done yet. Flinging an accusatory finger at Spain, he lashed out once more: "How would _you_ fucking like it if _I_ came in here and woke you up _by groping _you?"

Antonio couldn't help it. He tilted his head to one side, the question triggering a thoughtful look that overtook his normally cheerful face. _How would I like it. . .? Well, I probably _would_ like it, even though there isn't a snowball's chance in hell that Lovino would actually—_

Spain's thoughts were abruptly interrupted as he was hit in the face. With one of his own pillows, no less. _"VAFFANCULO!"_ Romano stormed out of the room in a towering fury, still clutching one of the pillows from Antonio's bed. Belatedly, the older nation followed him; guessing correctly that Lovino was headed to his old room down the hall, he got there a mere fraction of a second after the angry Italian slammed the door shut.

"Romano!" Knowing that it was futile, the Spanish man banged on the door anyway. "You didn't even give me a chance to explain!"

"_Spiegare?_ Explain what? That you're a goddamn pervert?" Spitting out the words, Lovino leaned against the other side of the door, still breathing hard. Hugging the pillow tighter to his chest to muffle his racing heartbeat, he cursed silently to himself as he slid to the floor and curled his body around it. Dio, _it feels so loud that Antonio can hear it from the outside of the door_. . .

"_Mi pequeño_ Lovino, what else did you want me to do? You weren't waking up with anything else I tried!" Antonio touched his forehead to the door, eyebrows furrowing in exasperation when he heard the younger man's reply:

"That just proves that you weren't trying _hard enough_!" He should know. He _felt_ all of Spain's attempts to "wake him up" because he wasn't really _sleeping_ in the first place! Not that he'd tell Antonio that, of course. Sighing, Spain let gravity hit his head against Romano's door. _Ay, _mi querido_ Romano, if I'd known it would have been so effective, I wouldn't have done it. . .— is what I'd like to think, but would I really have chosen to?_

He gave his head a little shake, still-damp curls kicking up a fine spray of droplets. _No. Lovi._ "Lovi, what about dinner? Aren't you hungry?"

"How _dare_ that bastard mention dinner?" On the inside of the door, the personified nation known as Southern Italy was fidgeting. That thought should've been occupying his priorities right now. Instead, he was also blushing. _Goddammit, why the fuck am I blushing like a friggin' middle-school girl who's just talked to her crush for the first time?_ Lovino fumed. _Because Antonio just called you _'mi pequeño Lovino,' _you dumbshit,_ he sniped back at himself. But he couldn't help it. When he heard _Spagna_ call him that, his mind flashbacked to what the curly-headed man had written. _Damn him and all his stupid nicknames._ The Italian buried his face into the stolen pillow, and frowned. _"Aren't I hungry"? Of course I am, dumbass! And who the hell d'you think I was waiting for?_ "Screw you! Go eat by yourself!"

Still leaning against the outside of the door, Antonio whacked his head against it once more. "But I don't _want_ to! Eating alone makes Boss lonely!" Realizing what he'd just admitted aloud, the Spaniard's hands flew to shut his mouth before he said anything else that might be too revealing. _Damn it, Lovino, if you weren't so — cutely — difficult all the time, I wouldn't have said that!_

A pause. Then: "_Cos'è. . . stato?_"

_Oh crap!_ Antonio quickly changed the subject before the Italian man could proceed further in that particular line of questioning. Quickly putting his whining voice on, he scratched at the door in what he hoped was an appropriately pathetic-sounding manner. "Lovi, if you're not gonna come out, can I at least have my pillow back?" _Anything to lure him out of there. . ._

The smaller man stewed. _Damn it Spain, just answer the damn question like a normal person!_ So. He had the nerve to throw out a tidbit like that and then change the subject, too? "No! Go the fuck away already!" _Well. Learned something new today, for good or for bad. . .but that still doesn't excuse the bastard from touching my curl again! Like the other times!_

"Lovino Romano Vargas, I'm staying right here until I get it back." Antonio smiled a little to himself. At least Romano wasn't really yelling anymore. _Even if the only person who can tell the difference is me._

Said nation cursed silently to himself again. _Damn stubborn streak of his. . ._ Well, fine. South Italy stood up and stalked over to his bed. Plucking a pillow at random off it, to replace it with Spain's, he stalked back to the door. _In tre, due, uno. . ._ Recklessly, Lovino opened the only barrier separating the two countries to hurl his only projectile at Antonio.

For the second time today, Spain got a faceful of pillow. Ay_, all I did was look up when I heard the door open. . ._ "Lovi, I'm sure Boss didn't teach you to return people's possessions by throwing them in their faces." No muffled reply came from inside the room's interior, not even an irritated _"You're not my boss, _bastardo_."_ Shaking his head dejectedly, he trooped back to his bedroom to put the pillow back properly. Doing just that, Antonio pattered down the stairs to face down dinner alone. _He probably won't be coming down this evening anyway._

* * *

**Glossary of Non-English Words and Phrases**  
(arranged by order of appearance)

_Bastardo/idiota_ ➔ "bastard" and "idiot," respectively, in both Italian and Spanish.  
_  
__Mi querido_ Lovino ➔ "My dear Lovino" (Spanish)  
_  
__Mi tomate_ ➔ "my tomato" (Spanish)

_Mi amor_ ➔ "my love" (Spanish)

_Te amo_ ➔ "I love you" (Spanish)  
_  
__Solo tu_ ➔ "Only you" (Italian)_  
__mi pequeño_ Lovino ➔ "my little Lovino" (Spanish)

_Dio_ ➔ "God" (Italian)  
_  
__modus operandi_ ➔_ "_mode of operation," or a specific way/method of doing something; also, cop-speak, "M.O." (Latin)

_niño_ ➔ a "child," specifically, a male one (Spanish)  
_  
__¿Qué?_ ➔ "what?" (Spanish)  
_  
__Madre de Dios_ ➔ "Mother of God" (Spanish)  
_  
__Pomodoro bastardo_ ➔ "tomato bastard" (Italian)  
_  
__Che palle_ ➔ literally translates as "that balls," but actually means something like "what balls" or maybe "what a drag" (Italian)

_asino_ ➔ "ass" as in "donkey" kind of ass, not butt kind of ass, OK? (Italian)  
_  
__Vaffanculo_ ➔ literally translates as "fuck your butt," but used here it means "Fuck you."  
_  
__spiegare_ ➔ verb form of "to explain" (Italian)

_Spagna_ ➔ "Spain" (Italian)

_"Cos'è. . . stato?"_ ➔ "What. . .was that?" (Italian)  
_  
In __tre, due, uno. . ._ ➔ "In three, two, one..." (Italian for the numbers)

* * *

_**To be continued** in Chapter 2 of _It Takes Two, _titled_ "It Takes Two - To Keep It Hidden."

I DO NOT CLAIM TO OWN THE CHARACTERS USED OR HETALIA. I just borrowed them from Himeruya-sensei. c: Same goes for the rest of this series.

Also, if I have misused any words in Spanish or Italian, please leave a review telling me and I will fix it.

_Reviews/criticism are welcomed._ In particular, I would appreciate it if you told me which lines were your favorite, and **why**, instead of just saying something really short, like, "oh, this is cute!" c: (I mean, it's nice of you to say so, but that doesn't really help me with anything.) =_=


	2. To Keep It Hidden

**Title: **It Takes Two — To Keep It Hidden (Chapter 2)

**Pairing:** Spamano, just shōnen-ai again.

**Summary:** Finding Antonio's journal helped to kick-start a supposedly normal enough fight between Antonio and Lovino, not that Antonio knows that. What does Romano do next?

**Warning:** May contain country personification implied boyxboy, a.k.a. B.L. or yaoi. Both human and country names used.

**Rating:** T for multilingual cussing.

**Word Count:** 793

* * *

_Continued straight from Chapter 1 of _"It Takes Two" — ("_To Keep A Secret_")

* * *

Curled up on the bed, the auburn-haired Italian listened to the sound of the elder man's footsteps making his way back up the hall, then retreating downstairs. Although Romano was quite sure that Antonio had gone to eat down below, he didn't make a move, nor a sound. His body felt like it was stretched and twisted to the point of implosion, and his cheeks felt so hot that he was certain that if the curly-headed man downstairs were to see them he'd smile and call Lovino cute. _"Ay, Roma, you look just like a tomate!"_ The thought of which, according to a sudden upward flare in room temperature, just made it worse.

Glancing down at his hands, Lovino Vargas stared down at them for a couple of seconds before he realized: _What the fuck? My whole body's shaking. . ._ It couldn't be from when Spain touched him, could it? He closed his eyes and insinuated himself deeper into the mattress. _You're horny, that's all it is. It's just a hormonal reaction from _Spagna_ touching your curl,_ he tried to rationalize it to himself. But in the back of his mental process, another voice nagged: _"Really? And it's _not _because it was _Antonio_ who touched you?"_ Opening his eyes, Romano found nothing to distract his thoughts, except for the ceiling. _No answers there._ With no other alternative, he got up and started to pace around the room.

* * *

Unfortunately, however: as he did so, his thoughts kept leading to one thing above all else. "_. . ._ — _Merda!"_ All visions of Antonio vanished abruptly as soon as he slammed his foot into a desk leg.

Lovino wasn't paying any attention at all when he moved around the room, so he hadn't realized how close he was to the furniture. _Damn, I hit it so hard it knocked me right on my ass. — What the hell?_ The impact caused by the collision had been enough to jar one of the desk drawers loose. From the floor, Romano tried to shove it back in, but discovered that the collision had also knocked something loose in the drawer below it. To put the drawer back, he'd have to get whatever-it-is out of there first. _I haven't gone through this shit in ages_. Gingerly reaching a hand into the innards of the desk, he fumbled around a bit before feeling a dusty, straight edge. Grasping it, he gently pried it out until he could look at it out in the open.

_Un libro?_ South Italy flipped through the pages with one hand while the other hand slid the drawer back in, dusting it off as he looked through the book. Interestingly enough, the book was blank. It wasn't a sketchbook, though. _This book was meant to be written in,_ Lovino thought. _Maybe. . ._ He thumbed through the pages a second time, taking in how the edges of each page were yellowed with age and how they faded into their original creamy, rich white towards the centers. Running his fingers along the printed lines, Lovino sat down at the desk and reached for a pencil. Hesitating, but making his decision, he put the pencil back and took out a pen instead. Skipping a few pages from the front, Lovino started to write.

_Weird,_ he thought as the pen moved across the paper. Che palle_. Never thought I'd be one for writing._ But the emotional conflict unlocked by reading Antonio's journal poured itself out with every sentence that he penned. It wasn't completely easy — Romano had a healthy distrust for anything that seemed _too_ good to be true — and he had to stop at times to figure out how to best express his thoughts into coherent words, crossing out things _here_, or scribbling in the margins _there_. But it still seemed to flow surprisingly well for a guy who had never bothered to be terribly adept at it.

* * *

After what seemed to be a relatively short time later, Lovino dropped the pen on the desk. Pushing the chair out, he inhaled deeply while propping his feet up on the desk's surface, taking care not to bump the book. _I'll wait for the ink to dry and then hide it._ Since he also hadn't heard Spain come back upstairs, he assumed that the elder was still downstairs eating. _Well._ The Italian man allowed a snort of impatience to escape his thoughts. He'd cross that bridge when he got to it. _Besides, that's not the problem right now._ Swinging his legs off the top of the desk, Lovino Vargas frowned, biting his lower lip as he pondered the question currently at hand:

"Where the _fuck_ am I supposed to hide this thing?"

* * *

**Translations:**

_tomate _— "tomato" (Spanish)

_Spagna _— "Spain" (Italian)

_Merda! _— "Shit!" (Spanish & Italian)

_Un libro? _— "A book?" (Spanish & Italian)

_Che palle _— literal translation: "that balls"; usual meaning: "what a drag"; used here as an expression of surprise

* * *

A/N:

Again, if I've made **any mistakes whatsoever** in my usage of Italian or Spanish, it is entirely my fault, and I will fix it if you leave a review correcting me.

Also: if you fave or follow this, I am very grateful that you have taken the time to read it, but if you want to make me a _truly_ happy writer, leave a review telling me your favorite lines, or maybe a guess at plotline, or maybe even something that stands out the most to you in my writing.

(I'm sorry that this chapter is so short in comparison to the first, but I've made it that way for a reason, trust me.) ^^;


	3. To Play The Game

**Title: **It Takes Two — To Play The Game (Chapter 2.5)

**Pairing:** Spamano, shōnen-ai.

**Summary:** Instead of venting his feelings directly, Lovino chose to respond the same way that Antonio did: by writing them down. (Anyone ready for some venting?)

**Warning:** May contain country personification implied boyxboy, a.k.a. B.L. or yaoi. Both human and country names used.

**Rating:** T for multilingual insults in Spanish and Italian, mostly Italian...

**Word Count:** 423

_You blind jacked-up testa di merda! (__Dumbshit. Jackass.)__ Pomodoro bastardo. __Dense son-of-a-bitch asshole.__ Non mi rompere le pelle! Wasting our time all this time by _not saying_ anything!_

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, at this moment there's just ONE thing I want to tell you. _**You are the biggest fucking idiot I have ever had the (**__**mis)**__**fortune to know.**_ You know that? By all rights I should go tell you to go _vacagare _to hell! What the fuck do you mean, you don't want to see "that look on my face"? _Che cazzo vici?_ How do you think I felt when I read that, _pendejo_? Any feelings for me are supposed to make you ashamed? _Well, (__it wouldn't be the first time)__ you wouldn't be the first person._

_Cornuto._

I never thought I'd be calling you that. Anyone else (except maybe Feli)? Hell yeah. But not you.

(Quite fucking) Obviously, I'm pissed at you. Extremely pissed. Goddammit, I'm so mad at you that I decided to wait before letting you know that I know. If you've got _any_ freakin' brains left in that curly head of yours, you should know how bad it is when I have to resort to that. Though you don't know it yet, _that was no normal fight we just had._

That the way you wanna play it? **Dumb**? Fine. I can play it that way too.

I'm going to make you regret the millisecond you decided to lie to me — don't worry your pretty little head about the sordid little details, though you'll find out soon anyway. (Just how am I going to do that, you wonder?)

I'm going to _enjoy_ watching you squirm as I do everything and anything I choose short of stripping you bare-ass _naked_ and locking the bedroom door behind us to distract you. You don't know I know, and I know you don't think I do. That's the best part of the whole (fucking) package. You might be a bit on the dense side (actually, sometimes it's pretty cute), but when I finally do make it clear I know, you're going to wonder why in the holy _fuck_ you were so chicken-assed in the first place, _España._

You should be happy I'm going to so much trouble for you, Antonio. _(I mean, hello, this is the guy who barely even wanted to do any chores when he still lived with you.)__ No se preocupe, mio piccolo _Antonio. I know _I'm_ going to have fun with this.

After all, in this scenario, revenge is a dish best served _hot._

* * *

[EDIT 8.17.12]: Text in () parentheses are words/phrases Lovino wrote and then crossed out. :3 Sorry if you were confused..._  
_

* * *

I apologize to everyone who was waiting for the chapter I promised you guys last week *shot* I'll upload more stuff later this week, so please, don't kill meeeeeeeee. . . D':

* * *

**Translations:**

_testa di merda _➝ "shithead" (Italiano)

_pomodoro bastardo _➝ "tomato bastard" (Italiano)

"_Non mi rompere le pelle!" _➝ "Don't break my balls!" (Italiano)

_vacagare _➝ "piss off" (Italiano) Actually, the way Romano says it, it probably means something more like "fuck off"... o3o

_Che cazzo vici?_ ➝ "What (the hell) are you saying?" (Italiano)

_pendejo_ ➝ "stupid," "fool," "asshole," etc. (Español)

_cornuto_ ➝ literally means "horned," but the Internet tells me it's a major insult that people use because the insulted person has "horns" from betraying the insulter (I guess it's a reference to the devil?)

_No se preocupe_ ➝ "don't worry" (Español)

_mio piccolo _Antonio ➝ "my little Antonio" (Italiano)

* * *

If you are a fluent speaker of either Italian or Spanish and I've used a word/phrase wrongly, **please feel free to REVIEW** and correct my errors. c: _Gracias!_

Also, this is labeled "2.5" because this "journal entry" chapter is intended to be separate from, yet part of this series. =/= Sorry for this late upload!

Please **leave me a review** to motivate me (*cough* _and my muses _*cough*) to work faster and tell me what you love about my writing! Love from my readers will be returned with new chappies from me~!


	4. To Pick Up The Pace

**Title:** It Takes Two — To Pick Up The Pace

**Summary:** The dreaded "morning after" finally dawns! What happens between Antonio and Lovino today?

**Warning:** Contains country personification implied boyxboy, a.k.a. B.L. or yaoi. Human names used.

**Rating:** T for lovely multilingual cussing, yay!

**Word Count:** 1,842

_The next day._

Lovino Romano Vargas watched the only other person in the kitchen from under hooded eyes. _If he takes that as me still being pissed at him, so much the better for my plan._ After all, if the bastard was worried about whether he, a.k.a. South Italy, was still pissed at him, a.k.a. Spain, he would be that much more distracted in trying to make it up. _At least, that's what logic would dictate. . ._

"Lovi~ You don't mind what we eat right now, do you? I think I forgot to go to the market again — " Catching the glare that the younger man leveled at him, the Spaniard quickly added: "I'll make it up to you later! I promise!"

At that response, Lovino merely grunted and buried his fingertips in his bangs, further obscuring his eyes. "Right now, I don't give a shit as long as it's something edible and there's enough of it." _Luckily for you,_ he almost added. He'd skipped dinner yesterday because he had still been too rattled to face Spain. _And I wonder whose damn fault _that_ was._ Surreptitiously, through his fingers, he watched Antonio's back as the latter dug through the fridge and freezer in search of something for them to eat for breakfast.

"Lovi, all I've got right now are eggs and some vegetables, so I'll just make omelettes, OK?" Spain looked anxiously at Romano, who coincidentally had just planted his face in the crook of an arm on the table. This only made him more worried, though, because it was always easiest to monitor the Italian's emotions by watching his facial expressions. "Lovi?"

Romano spoke. "Time you waste talking to me is time better used for _making_ food, dumbass." Though it came out muffled, there was no mistaking the irate tone of his voice.

"_¡Sí, sí!_ I'll be done soon!" Antonio quickly started chopping bell peppers as he turned up the heat on the stove. _Thank _Dios_ meal prep never takes long with modern technology_. It wasn't long until the first omelette was ready, and he made quite sure that it went to Lovino. "Lovi, sit up properly and eat, or it'll get cold, you know?"

* * *

_Neither of them heard the distant tone of a cell phone upstairs — one meant to be kept on through any natural or manmade disaster known to mankind._

* * *

Antonio's voice sounded very far away by now to Romano, who had slipped into a kind of halfway state between awake and asleep. "Roma?" _Goddammit, can't he just _stai zitto _for more than ten seconds?_ "Roma, it won't taste good anymore when it's cold. . ." By now, Antonio wasn't just chiding, he was also pleading. "You're not still so mad at me that you're not gonna eat, are you?"

At that, the Italian man sat up reluctantly and stretched, trying to suppress a snort, but not quite succeeding. "Spain, you must be denser than I thought, coming up with that kinda crap. Now, what _possible_ reason would I have for ignoring food, other than the fact that an _idiota_ I know just _happened_ to make it?" He pulled the plate towards him and started chewing. Between bites, he added: "Really, Antonio. Do you have any brains at all in that head of yours?"

Irrationally thankful for some degree of normalcy, the older man feigned shock and tried to ignore Romano's verbal barbs. "How mean! If I didn't have brains, then I couldn't cook, could I?" Although he was facing the stove with his back to Lovino, he could predict the other's reply quite easily through the slight hissing and popping of the stove as he flipped over another omelette:

"There's that, I suppose." The sudden scraping of chair legs against floor tiles suggested that the shorter man was leaning back against his chair while stretching his legs underneath the kitchen table. "Unfortunately, even all the brains in the world wouldn't cure you of your _stupidità_, or England of the delusion that he can cook."

"Then I suppose you should be grateful you got me today instead of Arthur, or you might starve to death." Antonio joked, turning around and smiling as he tried to gauge Romano's reaction. To his disappointment, however, there was no change in his former underling's face when the plate of just-off-the-heat omelettes was placed on the table.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever." Lovino didn't even spare the older man a glance as he sat down, having eyes only for the steaming food. The second that Antonio put the plate down, the Italian man attacked it with the fervor of a predator zoning in for its kill. _And it's about freakin' time, too. What, does he _want_ me to die from hunger? _

Spain watched Lovino eat, amazed at the rate at which the food was being devoured. _¿Qué coño?_ _I'm at a lower priority level than food? Hijo de puta. . .where does he _put_ all of that?_ He tried not to be disappointed as he took a bite of his own half-eaten breakfast. This _was_ Romano, after all. _I shouldn't expect anything beyond that by now, should I. . .? Ay, I shouldn't think these things, they're just going to make me _pesimista.

"Are you going to _mangiare_ that or not?" The sudden sound of the Italian man's voice abruptly cut through his reverie. Startled, the elder of the two looked at the younger, then back down to his plate before making the connection between the two. Noting Romano's intense stare at the food as well as the almost-but-not-quite-a-glare that was aimed at him, Spain elected to forgo it.

"Um. . .no?" Antonio almost fell out of his chair trying to avoid the swing of Lovino's fork as it sped straight for his plate. _In the mood he must be in it's probably best to avoid _anything_ sharp within his range. . ._

* * *

_This time, the sudden clamor of a ringing phone erupts upstairs, though no one is there to heed it. As suddenly as it had started, it cuts off. There is no answer for this caller._

* * *

_It's about freakin' time. _Dio,_ if you're not gonna eat it then I will!_ The one thing that got under Lovino's skin more than any other — not counting the frog and potato _bastardo _— was food going to waste. _And aren't you supposed to be scared shitless of how pissed I am at you right now?_ After all, last night had been a shock to _him _— in multiple ways — the elder nation should have to feel something too. It was only fair. Then he laughed out loud, quickly turning it into a cough when the Spaniard looked up, alarmed. _Ahh, you _would_ be scared shitless if you knew I knew. . ._ But of course there wouldn't be any fun in ending it so quickly.

Spain's head jerked up in response. _I hope he's not choking. . .no — _peering intently at Romano's face again — _he's not. Sounded a bit like a laugh, but that's probably just my imagination. . . I mean, why would he be laughing right now?_

. . ._Why the hell are you staring at me like that?_ Thinking that too much single-mindedness even for his former (self-proclaimed) boss, South Italy decided that it was time for a distraction. He swallowed the very last bite and wiped his mouth on the back of one hand. Pushing back his chair by leaning to his left, the Italian man affixed Antonio with his deadliest glare. "_Che cosa?_ Something on my face?"

Antonio had been hoping for some semblance of conversation, and the not-so-veiled challenge in Romano's tone provided exactly that. "Umm. . .not that _I_ can see. . .why? Does it feel like there is?"

For some reason that seemed to only irritate him more. Before Antonio could say anything further, Lovino sprang to his feet and glared down at the green-eyed brunette from a greater distance, his eyes darker now. "Oh really? Then what was that pause for, decoration?" — here he turned around and smacked his butt to ensure that Antonio's attention was on him — "I guess now you're going to try and tell me that there's something wrong with my ass, too!"

_As much as I'm really itching to examine your ass in great detail, Romano, that's a bit _too_ provocatory for my liking. . .in more ways than one._ "_Mi pequeño_ Lovino, I didn't say there was anything wrong with your face—" _Or your ass, Dios forbid. _

The younger nation hid a satisfied smirk as he turned around. _I notice you say jack about the ass, _mi pequeño España. Aloud, he demanded, "Then why were you giving me that look earlier, huh? If you've got something to _parla,_ just fucking _spit it out,_ or is that too _hard_ for you?!"

_ Rule _número uno_ when dealing with South Italy: never expect sweet or sugarcoated._ Without realizing it, Spain had also risen from his seat and was now matching the other glare-for-glare. "I'm not _onnisciente,_ Lovi; if I want to know how to act around you _without_ the extra earful, I either gotta look at your face and see how you're feeling or risk my sorry _culo_ asking you point-blank!"

* * *

_A seldom-used doorbell rings, echoing faintly from a distance. Silently, an unseen intruder makes their way in, oblivious to the storm brewing inside._

* * *

By coincidence, both Antonio and Lovino had reverted back to their native languages, resulting in a veritable battle of verbal barbs and equally colorful thoughts:

_ "Obviously_,_ you're not omniscient, asshole, 'cause otherwise maybe you would have _apologized_ by now, you sorry sonova_—_" _Inside, the auburn-haired man was pricked into a greater degree of outrage._ 'How to act around me?' What a load of _mierda! _If you could see anything past your dense skull, maybe you'd see you didn't NEED to fucking act around me_—

_"Apologize for _what?_ Feeding you? Humoring you all the time? _Lovino Romano Vargas_, have I ever told you even _once_ that you weren't welcome here!? Ever thought of it that way? Looking at things from a new point of view wouldn't hurt_—_"_ Antonio scrupulously avoided all thoughts of last night. _It's not like I wasn't_ _ever gonna apologize to you, Roma!_

_ "Oh, don't fucking play innocent with me, _Antonio Férnandez Carriedo! _You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about—"_ Romano was finding it difficult to express his thoughts in mere words, so wild gesticulation of his hands was making up for it. Especially the use of a certain finger.

_Ouch. You playing dirty with me, mi Lovi?_ A couple of the projectiles the Italian was now throwing at him were finding their way a little too close to the heart of the matter for Spain's liking. He opened his mouth to dish back a snappy retort, but it never came out. Instead, a _new_ voice joined the fray:

". . .Ah, dear me, it seems I've inadvertently interrupted a _lover's _quarrel?"

* * *

**Translations:**

"_¡Sí, sí!_" ➝ "Yes, yes!" ➝ repeated twice here because Antonio feels rushed. (Español)

_Dios _➝ "God" (Italiano)

_stai zitto_ ➝ "shut up" (Italiano)

_idiota_ ➝ "idiot" (Italiano and Español)

_stupidità_ ➝ "stupidity" (Italiano)

_¿Qué coño?_ ➝ the literal translation is "what the fuck?" but here it means something more like a shorter, "the fuck?" or "dafuq?" (Español)

_Hijo de puta_ ➝ "son of a bitch" ➝ Antonio is using it to express a sense of awe, in a sense. (Español)

_pesimista _➝ "pessimistic" (Español)

_mangiare_ ➝ "eat," "consume," etc. (Italiano)

_Dio_ ➝ "God" (Italiano)

_bastardo_ ➝ "bastard" (Italiano and Español)

_Che cosa?_ ➝ "What?" (Italiano)

_Mi pequeño_ Lovino ➝ "my little Lovino" (Español)

_mi pequeño España_ ➝ "my little Spain" (Español)

_parla_ ➝ "say" ➝ shortened version of _parlare,_ "to say" (Italiano)

_número uno_ ➝ "number one" (Español)

_onnisciente_ ➝ "omniscient" (Italiano)

_culo_ ➝ "ass," as in butt kind of "ass." (Italiano)

"_What a load of _mierda!" ➝ "What a load of _[bull]shit_!" (Español)

_mi Lovi_ ➝ "my Lovi" (Español)

* * *

As always, please, please, please correct me if you find any typos or errors in the non-English words! C: _Arigatō gozaimashita!_

_(I don't think this is likely to happen, but if you find typos or grammar mistakes in the chapter as a whole, then review and tell me about those, too!)  
_

__If you want to make me a happy writer and nudge my Antonio and Lovino-muses into action, please help me out and _**review**_, **such as** one/more of the following:

1) Suggest some nicknames or adjectives that the two might use to call each other, even face-to-face! They don't have to be complimentary!

2) Tell me what you think of this chapter! :D I really want to hear your favorite lines/parts~

3) Guesses at what might happen next/in the future will always find an audience with me! :3

4) Suggestions as to possible improvements! ;A; Please be gentle with these, though! And please suggest how I might improve, don't just say, "this sucks and you need to do something about it." Tell me why you think it sucks!


End file.
